I Promise
by Bridgetj0nes
Summary: Johnlock fic, possible M after a while. Moriarty causes some trouble, sadness then happiness and fluff (then probably some smut) ensues. Please R&R. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock searched the room again, desperately looking for a way to get John out of this in one piece. Once again, he came up with nothing. The room they were in was typical of Moriarty, extravagant and completely over the top. The carpet beneath their feet was thick and plush and deep red in colour, the walls were panels of dark wood (Oak, Sherlock suspected). The room that Moriarty had them in was large and brightly lit.  
Jim Moriarty was sat in a leather armchair with legs draped over the side, looking perfectly at ease, whilst John was sat propped up again the wall with his arms and legs bound together, blood staining the side of his face from where Moriarty's damn 'henchmen' had hit him repeatedly. Sherlock vowed to get revenge on every single one of them that had hurt John. _His_ John.  
"You can't delay this forever, Sherly. I might get bored... and you know what happens when people like us get bored" Moriarty drawled. John ground his teeth, nobody called Sherlock 'Sherly' but him, how dare Moriarty use it.  
Sherlock looked down at the gun Moriarty had placed next to him. He was fast running out of ideas. '_THINK, Sherlock', _He thought,_ 'You have to save John'.  
_ "Come onnn, Sherly. Either you do it or i do. I'll give you the options again, shall i? Either you shoot Johnny-boy, or I do it. If i do it, I'll make you watch him suffer before shooting you too". Moriarty's sing-song voice wasn't helping Sherlock think, He only wanted to keep John safe, he didn't care what happened to him.  
"I said I'd burn the heart out of you, Sherlock... Well now i am". Moriarty was now deadly serious, and the slightly crazed look had returned to his eyes. Sherlock knew he didn't have much time if he was going to save John.  
John was vaguely aware of some sort of commotion coming from outside the room, he couldn't tell what exactly, but it sounded like fighting between more of Moriarty's men. _'Those bloody minions' _he thought. John couldn't work out why he had been dragged out of his surgery this morning; two men had turned up and told him some cock-and-bull story about Sherlock sending them to get him... John had been confused and refused to go until he'd spoken to Sherlock, which caused them to hit him around the head and knock him out. In all honesty, he knew it had been something bad, and cursed himself for not being able to defend himself.  
John didn't know what was going on outside the room, and he suddenly realised he'd lost track of what was going on inside the room and this twisted game that Moriarty was playing with them. John became very aware of the fact that Sherlock had a gun in his hands and was aiming it at John's shoulder before feeling a familiar blinding pain (_why was it always the shoulder?_) and seeing the door burst open and Sherlock being dragged away, with Moriarty following after, before everything went black.

Some time later, John woke up. He had no idea where he was, but his shoulder had somehow been stitched up and treated. John knew that whoever had done it had known what they were doing and that it would heal. Pain took over again and John lowered his head back to the wall and closed his eyes, drifting off again.  
A few hours later, John woke fully. He pulled himself painfully upright, and looked around. He had no memory of having his shoulder treated; all he had was images of Sherlock being dragged out of the room and away from him. John pulled up his kneed and rested his chin on them. He was angry at Sherlock for getting them into yet another situation that ended with him getting injured and more so when, after finding his phone in his pocket (he didn't remember getting it back from Moriarty) he realised that he'd been out cold for three days and didn't have a single missed call or text from Sherlock. '_Bastard'_, he thought.  
Mostly though, John was just scared. He didn't know where he was in relation to home... to Sherlock, He didn't even know if he was still in London. One thing John did know that Sherlock hadn't come back for him and he didn't know why. Terrified and hurting, John began to cry. He'd woken up alone and scared, and felt like Sherlock had abandoned him.  
John cried until he felt quite ridiculous, dried his face, and slowly pulled himself to his feet. He was in the same room as he remembered, and everything was still the same. .. Apart from a note on the floor, which John hadn't noticed before. He bent over and picked up the note, and began to read the hastily scrawled writing.

" _John, I'm sorry about your shoulder but I've treated the wound and you'll make a full recovery. I've returned your phone, and left some money, please take it and get yourself somewhere new. Stay away from Sherlock Holmes, Moriarty will stop at nothing to get to him. Destroy this note after you've read it, Jim will kill me if he knows what I've done. Sorry again. Seb x"_

John had no idea who the hell 'Seb' was, but was grateful all the same. He picked up the note and money, slipping them into his pocket as he walked through the door and out of the house.


	2. Chapter 2

*disclaimer* - I forgot to put this on the first chapter, but I obviously own nothing, these characters are not mine as if they did i would be a very rich girl. All characters are Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's or adaptions of BBC Sherlock.

The first thing Sherlock felt after pulling the trigger was a pair of rough hands pulling him out of the door and away from John and Moriarty. The second thing was a hand being clamped over his mouth as he tried to call John, and the third thing was dread, after realising he knew exactly whose hands were on him. Sherlock was aware of the fact the he was being pulled towards the front of the house, and further from John, but in his panic he had lost track of the layout of the house a little, and wasn't entirely sure how to get back to John.  
Sherlock was shoved into a small room the size of an average waiting room and heard the door close behind him, He span around and took in his surroundings. There were a few uncomfortable looking chairs dotted around, and a small coffee table with a couple of the daily newspapers on top. There were a few small pictures in frames on the walls, and gaudy wallpaper that was yellowing and peeling at the corners of the room was covering the walls. Finally, Sherlock's eyes landed on the man stood opposite him  
"Seb." Sherlock spat, deducing everything he could that might help him work out how to get John out of this mess.  
"Oh you do remember me then?" Seb drawled "Jim said you wouldn't remember, but I knew you wouldn't forget."  
Sherlock remembered now why Moriarty has chosen Seb, taken him on as almost a pet. Seb had that same look in his eyes that bordered between madness and sheer brilliance- and Seb had always had a thing for Moriarty, even if he said otherwise. Unfortunately, Sherlock (and most others) felt that Seb leaned more towards being mad, which he frequently proved by carrying out Moriarty's ridiculous schemes without question.  
"Now listen, sweetie, I'm going to let you go home, and you're going to stay there. You claim to love John Watson, now is your chance to prove it. Don't contact him and we may let him wander out of here in one piece." Seb finished with a wink, before pulling Sherlock through a door, and down the hall towards the front door. Seb pushed Sherlock out onto the street, "Run along now, Sherly" he sing-songed, closing the door with a wave.

Back at the flat, Sherlock paced back and forth trying to think of a plan, before dejectedly slumping into Johns' chair and curling up. He didn't want to play by Moriarty's rules, but he would be damned if he was going to put John in further danger by contacting him. Sherlock decided to wait for three days before going back to get John, and in the meantime, plan how to get him out of Moriarty's grip and back home with them both collecting as fewer injuries as possible.  
It had shaken Sherlock to see Seb after all this time; Seb Moran had been in with Moriarty's crowd at university. Sherlock had never paid much attention to the crowd, generally only being concerned with Moriarty's antics, but Seb had always trailed after Jim and given Sherlock an uneasy feeling. There was nothing particularly pleasing about his appearance and he didn't seem like ''one of the guys'', but it was now clear that Jim had kept him around because of his loyalty. Sherlock had never been particularly fond of Seb, especially after...  
Sherlock's trail of thought ended. He couldn't let himself bring all that back up now, not after all this time... things were different now, he had John and friends and a life at Baker Street.

Realising that he had been curled up in John's chair for longer than planned, Sherlock pulled himself to his feet and walked to the kitchen, "John would make tea" he thought to himself. After making tea, Sherlock crawled back onto the sofa miserably and turned the telly back on. Before this whole thing had happened, the pair had been watching some film that John had forced Sherlock into watching, '_The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy'_. It wasn't actually a bad film (for a change) but Sherlock wouldn't be caught admitting that. After around ten minutes of watching the pictures but not following the film, Sherlock fell asleep, feeling utterly defeated and worn-out. Feeling tired so regularly was something he'd never experienced before; he'd been changed and made to feel so many more things since knowing with the Doctor, he'd become more... more _human. _

After two lonely days of waiting, and planning how to get John out of Moriarty's hands (he was going to go in all guns blazing, and rescue John or die trying), Sherlock decided on the third that he would wait no longer - He was unable to call Mycroft and imply that he should help (Sherlock never begged). He got dressed and went back to where Moriarty had staged his twisted game; he was slightly puzzled as to why he'd just been allowed to walk out, because Moriarty would've surely known that Sherlock was familiar with this area.  
From the outside, the house looked small, shabby and run-down, however it was deceptively large inside (much like the TARDIS, he mused). Sherlock supposed Moriarty had picked this house to make the inside look more impressive... Another thing that Sherlock could only suppose at was why this location in particular was chosen: It was just around the corner from Lauriston Gardens; an area Sherlock knew well thanks to what John had dubbed '_The Study in Pink'_ case on his blog. There was no obvious significance to this location, so Sherlock decided to ask the smarmy git next time they were face to face.  
Sherlock walked through the gate and up to the front door, trying the door, he found it unlocked. Cautiously he pushed it open and stepped inside, the door swung closed and shut with a small click. There wasn't a single noise coming from inside the house, and no signs of anyone even being there—wait, there were the marks that Sherlock had made on the walls when he was being dragged. Feeling reassured that he was in the right house, Sherlock ran through the house checking every single room, including the room where he had had his sickening reunion with Seb Moran.  
The house was empty. Every room was stripped and bare, like nobody had ever been there. Sherlock slid down the wall and stared at the floor dejectedly, he had no idea what had happened, but he knew one thing for sure:

_John was gone _


	3. Chapter 3

*I still own nothing, please please please review, enjoy*

Sherlock left the house and sped back to the flat, he'd realised that in his hurry to get to where he thought John would be, he had left his phone on the arm of his chair. "_Stupid, Stupid!" _he cursed himself silently. He felt like a complete fool, because leaving his phone had meant that he couldn't call John whilst being at Moriarty's playhouse.

Sherlock burst into the flat and immediately noticed that things were different from when he'd left. Not little things like when Mrs. Hudson had been cleaning, but John things, things that had definitely been there earlier, he knew because Sherlock had surrounded himself with them. The flat smelt differently too, and Sherlock could tell that John had been at the flat within the time he had been out. For the first time since walking away from Moriarty's house three days ago, Sherlock felt complete faith in the fact that John was at least alive, and that he could fix this... until he looked into Johns room to see that a large amount of his things were missing..  
Looking around, he saw that the suitcase John only used for long trips was gone from next to the wardrobe, along with the pile of jumpers that John had had on the chair in the corner before this whole fiasco (he knew they were there because he'd put them there that morning). Sherlock felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, thinking that maybe Moriarty had succeeded in separating him and John at last.  
Back downstairs, Sherlock located his phone, the sinking feeling getting worse. Picking up the phone and lighting up the screen, his heart leapt into his mouth: '1 New Message: John'. Fingers shaking, he opened the text,  
"_Do you have anything to say before I leave? –JW"  
_Sherlock realised that the text had only just been sent, there was still hope. He typed out his reply and pressed send with his heart thundering.  
"_I'm sorry, so, so, sorry. I love you John- SH"  
_ Sherlock perched on the edge of his chair, waiting for John to give him anything, any small clue that would help him get his sandy haired friend back.  
"_You seriously think that's going to work on me? You shot me and left me, for god's sake! –JW"  
_Sherlock fired off his reply.  
_"You think I wanted to do that? It was for your own good, i knew they'd leave you alone. I knew you'd survive! - SH"_

The next message took an agonisingly long time to be received, Sherlock feared that John had given up on him.  
_"Oh you did, did you? Did you also know that I would wake up and think you were dead? Did you know that I'd cry over the thought I'd be without you? For crying out loud Sherlock, why does this keep happening? You tell me you love me and then you leave me in agony, with no explanation, you didn't even text? It's been three days! - JW"_

That knocked the wind right out of Sherlock's sails... he had NOT been expecting that. Knowing that John had cried over him made him want to step outside of his body and punch himself in the face.  
"_Of course I knew you'd survive. Do you honestly think that I could cause you that much pain if it wasn't my only option? You can't know how sorry I am John, please, let me explain – SH" _

Sherlock had begun pacing between each of John's texts; he wandered over to the window and drew back the curtain to watch the street below. The weather had been turning much colder recently and just now it had started to snow. The street was only semi-lit, with the streetlights just beginning to turn on and the sunlight fading fast. Flakes of snow fell silently, catching the light and dancing like glitter in the air.  
Sherlock had never really liked Christmas, even as a child, but he adored the snow. It was one thing that nobody knew about him, but he thought that snow made everything seem a little less worrisome. As his phone alerted him to a response from John, Sherlock prayed that he had been thinking clearly enough to remember to take one of his coats when he had come to the flat. He didn't know what Moriarty had done to him whilst he'd been there, but Sherlock hoped that John wasn't completely screwed up. Picking up his phone, Sherlock nibbled the corner of his lip and read his phone  
"_I... God... why is it so hard to stay mad at you? Stop, okay? Just stop doing this and I'll come back. Just please stop breaking me –JW" _

"_I'll stop John, I promise. I... I couldn't bear it if you left. Don't leave me, please. Come home- SH"_

Sherlock got the feeling that if John was planning on leaving, he wouldn't still be near Baker Street. Deducing from the fact that so many things were missing, as well as the largest suitcase, Sherlock pulled on his coat and scarf, ready to head to the nearest airport. Five minutes passed... then ten... then fifteen... Sherlock felt like he might explode if John didn't reply soon. Finally, his phone buzzed.  
_"I can't get a cab; nobody will come out in this weather. Will you come and get me? I'm at the airport. - JW"_

Checking the window, Sherlock saw that snow was now falling heavily and all the light had gone from the sky. Luckily, Sherlock was owed a favour by a few drivers, so called around and told them to get to Baker Street as quickly as the physically could, and no, he didn't care about the weather thankyou very much.

For the past few hours, John had been sat at a small table in the corner of the airport café, drinking an alarming amount of tea. He no longer needed the caffeine to keep himself awake, but he wasn't sure whether or not he was going home, to Sherlock, or far away, like the note from 'Seb' suggested he should. He had spent most of his time debating whether he should actually text Sherlock and give him a chance, or just up and leave, but his life was at Baker Street... his whole world was at Baker Street. In the end, he gave in and texted Sherlock, he did deserve an explanation after all.  
H e was so incredibly annoyed at the curly haired Detective, and yet he wanted nothing more than to kiss the stupid man. John thought back to the night that he discovered the infuriating man felt the same way about him...

It had started off as a normal evening, with John and Sherlock sitting in their chairs watching telly. However John had noticed that something wasn't quite right with Sherlock, as he hadn't been shouting about predictable storylines or wittering on about the turn-ups on people's jeans. John was sat typing up their latest case for the blog when Sherlock spoke softly from his seat opposite,  
"John..." he started, "what... what does love feel like?" It was so quiet that John wasn't sure he'd heard right, but then the silence in the flat became deafening and he knew.

John paused for a moment longer, and then swallowed. "Well... err... I don't really know how to explain this one, Sherlock". Looking over to where his friend sat, John saw that he was sitting cross legged on his chair, arms on his knees and watching John intently. His eyes were full of what John could only assume was fear and confusion, and because it was rare to see so much in Sherlock's eyes, he knew he had to do his best to explain. Feeling his pulse speed up, John broke the eye contact between the two men.

"I guess... well, it's like fireworks night and all the best things rolled into one, you feel like that one person is the centre of your entire universe and you'd do anything to keep them happy, even if it would make you sad. It feels like an electric shock whenever you touch or like there's a warmth to them that you need to be around. You want to protect them from everything, stop anything bad happening to them, you'd die for them. You feel safe and _alive _when they're around and cold when they're not. Love makes you feel like you're falling off something high and there's no way to stop but you don't want to because they're at the bottom waiting for you. They consume you and take up almost every waking thought you have. They're like your best friend, they challenge you, support you and you can rely on them and..." John's speech trailed off. He realised how much he'd said, and how much Sherlock might have guessed from his outburst.

More silence.

"I mean... err... yeah... it's cool... or whatever". John cursed himself for saying so much. "_Idiot, you've given it away. He's bound to work it out now, you complete fool, Watson!"  
_

Sherlock looked straight at him, "I'm not one of your army friends John, you can't act like you don't have feelings in front of me, I know you" Sherlock began to rise out of his chair, but John stopped him by speaking again  
"Love also hurts. Being consumed by it can also be bad, it can make you do things that..." John broke off, "It's tricky, okay? Anyway, why the interest? New case?"  
Sherlock was nearing the door to his bedroom by the time John had finished talking, "Thankyou John. That was... helpful" Slipping inside his room and closing the door, John was left in the living room, alone with a heavy silence and his thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

*I still own nothing**Enjoy!*

John was pulled from his thoughts by a waitress tapping him on his shoulder and telling him that he had to leave because the cafe was closing. It had only been a few moments since he'd asked Sherlock to come and get him, and he grudgingly stood up and pulled his case upright – he wanted to delay this for as long as possible, because he knew even the great Sherlock Holmes would be limited by the weather. Trudging towards the exit John pulled his case behind him with one hand and tugged his jumper on with the other, hoping that Sherlock had been able to find a fast driver.

Stepping outside, John was met with a wall of freezing cold air. Snow was falling heavily now and the car park was silent, apparently nobody was catching a plane tonight. Wishing that he'd brought a warm coat, John hugged himself to try and stop the cold creeping into his bones before turning his suitcase flat and sitting on it. Leaning back against the wall, he fired off a text to Sherlock; he was cold and miserable and wanted to be back with the mad detective.  
_ "Outside airport. It's too cold; I'm closing my eyes until you get here –JW"  
_The reply arrived before John could slip his phone back into his pocket,  
_"No John, not good. You realise that could be dangerous in this temperature? Eyes open soldier- SH".  
_Seconds later, "_Driver is an idiot. I'm getting out of the cab", _that message went unread, as John's eyes had already dropped closed.

Sherlock tucked his phone inside his jacket, and bust out of the taxi. The driver was being far too slow so he had told him to meet them at the airport. Sherlock flew through the streets, his coat flying out behind him – as he was running it hit him just how cold it was and that if he'd correctly worked out what John would be wearing (he had), he'd be close to freezing by now. This pushed Sherlock to run harder, his breath catching in his throat. Rounding the final corner and coming into view with the airport, the man spotted John at last... he was huddled up next to the wall, eyes closed. _"Damn it John! I told you to stay awake!" _Sherlock cursed, although he was mostly just glad to see his friend- his everything... After so long. His heart leapt.  
"JOHN!" he roared, running towards the figure.  
"JOHN WATSON!"no reply came, he carried on running.  
He reached John at last and shook him to consciousness  
"Sher-?"  
"I'm here John, its okay, I'm here". Sherlock pulled off his coat and wrapped it around the shorter man, who was shivering quite badly by now. John looked up at Sherlock and tried to speak again  
"Sherlock, I..I...I.." the chattering of his teeth made it hard for him to get his words out, he tried again.  
"sso ccc-cold" His eyelids began to droop again.  
"No, stay awake John! Please just stay awake". Sherlock repeated this over and over again, as he finally saw the cab coming into the car park. He scooped John up in his arms and pulled the suitcase the right way up, luckily for John, Sherlock was a lot stronger than he looked  
"C'mon, let's get you home"

By the time Sherlock was ready, with his arms full of John, the cab had pulled up and the doors were open. Sherlock gently threw John into the back of the cab, ran around and hurled his case into the boot of the car, and climbed in, sliding John around to lie on him. John whimpered something and nuzzled into Sherlock's chest, seeing his warmth and relaxing into him once he felt a pair of arms slip around him.

John looked up to Sherlock's face, "Will you stay? You'll ssstill be.. be here, wwhen i ww-wake up?" John's teeth were chattering less now, so his speech came easier.  
"Of course I'll still be here. I Promise. I want to be here every time you wake up, I love you" Sherlock gazed at John, his eyes filled with concern.  
"I love you too, Sherly" John smiled up at him.  
Sherlock pressed a kiss to John's forehead and pulled him in closer, leaning his head back against the rest. Sherlock looked out the window and watched the snow fall.

What seemed like straight away, the cab slowed down and stopped outside the flat. Between 221B Baker Street and the man lying in his arms, Sherlock realised that his entire world depended on two things, and two things alone.  
"Come on, we're home". Sherlock pulled John back out the cab, he was able to stand more or less unaided already, but Sherlock wasn't having any of it. With one arm around John and the other on his suitcase, the detective unlocked the door and dropped the case in the hallway. Using both arms, he got John up the stairs and into the flat, he decided John's room was too far away and he had a bigger bed anyway - so he took John to his room, tugged off the doctors shoes, pulled back the duvet and let John climb inside. Sherlock spotted a pile of blankets on his chair (he'd have to thank Mrs. H later) so he unfolded them and put them across the duvet covered John shape on the bed.

Sherlock was on his way out of the room when John mumbled something from over on the bed, turning around the detective saw him holding up the duvet signalling for Sherlock to join him. Sherlock considered not joining him for all of a second before shredding his shoes and sliding in. John wriggled over so that his head was resting on the taller mans chest with a pair of strong arms cradling him, he was more or less able to speak properly now but tiredness was making him mumble,  
"I love you Sherly "  
"And I, you, John" Sherlock found he was beginning to hate being called 'Sherly' less  
"Promise me something?" John tipped his head back so that he could look at Sherlock  
"Anything. What? "  
"Promise me that one day, and I don't care when, promise me we'll get married"

" ...Go to sleep, John."

Sherlock couldn't breathe. His heart was beating like a drum. '_Had John just... proposed?! And to him? The freak? John?!'  
_Sherlock's lack of reply pulled John back to full alert.  
"Sherlock..." John began in a small voice, "Do you not want to get married?"  
"Of course I want to..."  
"Then what is it?" Tears sprang to Johns eyes "I thought we..." his sentence trailed off, leaving them in silence.

Sherlock hesitated. He wasn't good with words when it came to emotions, sure if you gave him a crime scene he could get hundreds of words out in minutes, but being affectionate wasn't something he knew how to do. Sherlock had spoken lovingly to John in the past, but it was never anything as important as this, and he was terrified of getting it wrong and screwing up everything he had.  
"It's not that i don't want to, really it isn't. I love you more than anything John. All those things you said months ago, they're all true of you and they always will be. You're fireworks and Christmas, my universe, I'd die for you, do anything... it's just..." he paused, "I'm scared that you'll wake up tomorrow and feel differently. I'm scared that after the past week your head will be all messed up and tomorrow or maybe one day next week or next year you'll see how much better you could do and you'll be gone... I'm... I'm scared, John" breathing out, Sherlock looked down at the man in his arms and saw that a smile was playing at the corner of his lips,

"You daft sod. I won't have changed my mind by the time I wake up, how could I? If it makes you feel better, I will go to sleep now, and as a test you can tell me all those things again when I wake up."

John stretched up and placed a kiss on Sherlock's perfect, cupid bow lips. He then slid back down, to rest on the shocked looking man's chest, pulling him close.

"Night Sherlock, love you"  
"Night John, love you too"

Within minutes, John was fast asleep, and after placing a delicate kiss to the top of John's head, Sherlock followed suit.


	5. Chapter 5

*None of the characters are mine, I own nothing*

The next morning saw bright blue skies and a cold winter sun hanging over London. Pale sunlight drifted in through the windows of Baker Street and into the bedroom of Sherlock Holmes, where he was laying entangled with Doctor John Watson, tracing patterns onto his back.  
Sherlock had been awake for some time, but he didn't want to disturb John's sleep, especially after the night they'd had and how cold the doctor had gotten. He was also pretty sure that any movement would wake John, but would also be a mean feat given the way they were linked – seeing as he was quite happy to stay where he was, he lay there silently.  
John had actually woken up a short while ago, but Sherlock's mind appeared to be elsewhere and hadn't noticed. John had been awake since he'd felt patterns being drawn on his back, he'd always been very ticklish. Instead of drawing attention to the fact he was awake and ruining what seemed like perfect peace, he let his mind drift back to the night that Sherlock had admitted he had feelings, and that they were feelings for John.

John had sat alone in the living room in confused silence for a little while, before deciding that tea would make things clearer. He plodded over to the kitchen and made a pot of tea, brewing it silently and taking it back to his chair by the fireplace.  
About an hour had passed before John heard any signs of life from Sherlock's room, but it wasn't really the sort of noise that he would've preferred to hear... it was the crash of what sounded like a glass being thrown against the wall.

"Sherlock?" he called out, "Everything okay?"... Silence.  
He waited a few moments before trying again  
"Sherlock?" ... still nothing.

John pushed himself up out of his chair and walked over to stand outside Sherlock's bedroom door. Pressing his ear against the door, John could still hear nothing from inside, and was worried by now. Knocking gently, John pushed the door open, slowly just in case something was thrown his way – he wouldn't normally have just walked in without the okay, but he hadn't heard anything from Sherlock since their weird conversation earlier that evening.  
"Hey Sherl, are you alri-". John stopped as he took in the sight before him.

A lamp in the corner of the room was giving off enough light to give everything a soft orange glow and allowed John to make out the remnants of what used to be a glass lying on the floor on the other side of the room. Sherlock was sat against the wall on the floor, knees pulled up with his head resting on the top of them. John flew to his side and dropped to his knees, he placed a hand lightly on Sherlock's back, "Sherlock? What's wrong?"  
Sherlock lifted his head and looked straight at John, pain flickering from the light in his eyes,  
"I'm fine, John. Go back to the living room"  
"You're clearly not. What's with the glass?"  
"It had it coming" Sherlock said, completely deadpan

John rolled his eyes and fought back a smile,  
"C'mon, you're going to come into the living room and you're going to tell me what's going on in that head of yours. You may be the world's only Consulting Detective and I may only be a blogger, but I'm worried about you and want to help"

John helped Sherlock to his feet and followed him into the living room. John began to move for his chair but Sherlock had started talking, so he perched on the arm, ready to switch to Doctor mode.  
"The thing is, is that something very unusual and worrying has happened. I've been aware of it for some time, but I don't believe there is a solution and I don't know how to act with this knowledge". Sherlock pulled his lip between his teeth, worrying about how to carry on.  
_"Oh god, why does he have to do things like that? He has no idea how he looks" _John thought. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, and murmured as a sign for Sherlock to carry on,

"The thing is, John Watson, is that I appear to have fallen completely and totally in love with you"  
John's jaw dropped  
"And I'm now counting the seconds until you turn and walk out the door, never come back and I don't recover from the pain."

John took a moment to register what had just happened. He couldn't believe his luck! He didn't know quite how he had managed to earn the love of the brilliant man stood opposite him, but he was damn sure he wasn't going to waste this opportunity. John finally did what he'd wanted to do for months; he strode across the room, took Sherlock's face in his hands and kissed him squarely on the mouth.  
"You never noticed, did you? Even after that first night when I hinted? I've been in love with you since the first week we met. I'm not going to walk out the door, because this right here is everything I could want."  
John took advantage of Sherlock's silence by kissing him again, fiercely this time, and placing his hands at the back of his neck and curling his fingers in the detective's hair, he pulled him in closer. Sherlock gasped into the kiss and John took the opportunity to slide his tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss.  
John moaned when Sherlock's tongue began to challenge his and he began to pull gently on John's lip. Pulling away from Sherlock, John looked up into the detective's face; his cheeks were flushed and his lips red and swollen. It was the last thing John wanted to do, but he knew they needed to talk about this.

The rest of the evening was a bit of a blur for John, but it was a haze of hushed confessions and shy kisses.


End file.
